Dion was startled. He knew his friend. When his deep voice had such a
tone of gloomy discouragement, and his head drooped so mournfully, some
terrible event had befallen him.

His foreboding had been correct. The first tidings pierced his own soul
deeply.

He was not surprised to learn that the Romans ruled Alexandria; but a
small band of the conquerors, who had been ordered to conduct themselves
as if they were in a friendly country, had forced their way into the
architect's large house to occupy the quarters assigned to them. The
deaf grandmother of Helena and Barine, who had but half comprehended what
threatened the citizens, terrified by the noisy entrance of the soldiers,
had had another attack of apoplexy, and closed her eyes in death before
Gorgias set out for the island.

But it was not only this sad event, which must grieve the hearts of the
two sisters, that had brought the architect in a stranger's boat to the
Serpent Island at so late an hour. His soul was so agitated by the
horrible incidents of the day that he needed to seek consolation among
those from whom he was sure to find sympathy.

Nor was it wholly the terrible things Fate had compelled him to witness
which induced him to venture out upon the sea so recklessly, but still
more the desire to bring to the fugitives the happy news that they might
return with safety to their native city.

Deeply agitated--nay, confused and overpowered by all he had seen and
experienced--the architect, usually so clear and, with all his mental
vivacity, so circumspect, began his story. A remonstrance from Dion